


The Maker's Mercy

by CourierNinetyTwo



Category: Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: F/F, Flogging
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-23
Updated: 2015-09-23
Packaged: 2018-04-23 03:03:07
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,370
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4860578
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CourierNinetyTwo/pseuds/CourierNinetyTwo
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>There are some things that can only be shared with those who know you best.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Maker's Mercy

**Author's Note:**

> I put a Mature rating on this since it's technically BDSM, but there's no smut to be found here, just whipping therapy.

In one particular corner of Skyhold was an alcove where the sun always shone through, but there was no way to see within.

It was past a maze of doors and hallways, secreted somewhere so unremarkable as to be walked past by anyone who didn’t know exactly what they were looking for. The interior was just as plain, untouched stone walls and a matching floor meeting at a curve, its lone window disguised by an outside trellis, and a singular hook embedded in the ceiling that dangled from a chain. Leliana expected something decorative and useless had hung there once, providing a splash of color where no other was displayed, but the room itself was the classic shelter for a lover’s tryst, passion stolen just out of sight.

She had repurposed it with a few choice implements – a cushion to assuage the knees, a bucket fit to hold water, and a single woven rope short enough to coil up and carry without drawing suspicion. Manacles had been considered once upon a time, but every pair in the dungeon was either ancient and rusty, or so heavy as to cause distress when worn too long, and neither would suit. As it was, she preferred the way said rope looked when it was securing Cassandra’s wrists, looped twice over and enough slack draped from the hook so a fair amount of movement was permitted, easing the tension of back and shoulders, but never enough to slip free.

On her knees, surrounded by a column of sunlight, Cassandra was the very picture of a penitent, head bowed in supplication. The upper half of her armor – leather cuirass and chain shirt, the Seeker’s tabard that always lay atop them – had been carefully removed, shirt and breast band tucked beside them in the shadow by the door. Only a few words were exchanged before Leliana had set her bonds; it was a familiar task after all these years, and needed little prelude.

A proper flogger was hard to come by in wartime, but Leliana long since learned how to devise her own, finding a certain contentment in fashioning the leather properly. She thought it put a special touch to the whole affair, every lash an extension of her hand, her will. Provoking pain without lasting damage was an art, and thus Leliana had started with care, the initial strikes drawing a red flush across Cassandra’s shoulders, spreading down to the powerful columns of muscle that left her back akin to that of a bronze statue, sculpted from a life dedicated to battle and absent peace.

Leliana was mindful of the scars there as well, left behind by innumerable blades and spears, the unique web of tissue curving around Cassandra’s ribs wrought by a blood mage’s hand. The tails of the flogger faded to a caress in those places, the faint rasp of leather more than enough to earn a response. Elsewhere, though, she worked her wrist to build a harsher rhythm, keeping an ear out for the moment Cassandra’s quiet grunts acknowledging the impact turned to ragged breathing, closer to a shout when the rain of blows refused to cease.

Spying a drop of sweat tracing one shoulder blade, Leliana aimed for it, the choked inhale that followed almost musical when smooth leather kissed it away. Still in cuisse and greaves, the soles of her thick boots exposed, Leliana never ceased to be surprised Cassandra wasn’t completely drenched in sweat, although her hair was dark and heavy with its presence. Her posture had yet to slip, back straight with the force of discipline, even though the slide of the rope allowed plenty of room to bend, collapse.

Proof that she had spared the rod. Leliana put another ounce of strength into the next lash, wondering offhand if her arm had softened with age, but that blow produced a beautiful crimson flourish over older lines, and Cassandra jolted against her bonds, every inch of both arms tense enough to flash their muscle, shoulders broad and smooth as polished stone. She repeated the strike, drawing the reach of the flogger this way and that until Cassandra cried out, sagging under her bonds as a single word was uttered low and hoarse.

“Sunburst,” Cassandra gasped, her clenched fists going slack. It was relief and surrender, all in one motion.

Leliana’s arm returned to her side, a mild ache and hum traveling up from her fingertips. Her blood still beat quickly, but the flogger was set aside as she moved to stand in front of Cassandra, see her face. Dark eyes answered the summons, pupils blown wide, and the shine of exertion lay over Cassandra’s gaze as she tried to catch her breath.

Bringing her fingers beneath the other woman’s chin, Leliana tilted her face upward and smiled. “Are you well, Cassandra?”

“Of course,” she whispered back, firm and confident despite the rough edge in her voice.

By habit, Leliana brushed a few sweat-damp strands of hair away from Cassandra’s brow, out of her face. “And satisfied?”

That time only a nod was given in turn, but Leliana accepted the gesture and brought her hands up to the knot holding the rope in place, starting to ease it loose. If she had seen the distant start of tears in Cassandra’s expression, nothing was said, and that silence was kept as Leliana massaged her wrists, checking for cool spots or rough abrasions. None were found, and when she let go, the soft and sudden press of Cassandra’s cheek followed against her thigh, the line of her robe. No intent lingered behind the gesture save the simple instinct for contact, and Leliana offered a gentle stroke down Cassandra’s nape, soothing until her breath was even again.

After retrieving the rope from its hook, she untwisted the kinks from the other set of knots and started winding it around one arm, loosely tucking the ends away once that was complete. It was left between Cassandra’s clothes and the bucket, which had been dutifully filled with water beforehand. The cloth soaking inside felt cool to the touch, and Leliana squeezed out the excess as she closed the distance between herself and Cassandra again.

With slow, measured strokes, she began to wipe the sweat from Cassandra’s back, a few flecks of blood where the flogger had bitten deep. The heavy flush of adrenaline was gone, only the true marks left behind, but they would heal fast enough, vanish before there was time for anyone to question them. She brought the cloth to Cassandra’s cheek when that task was finished, glad to see the hard lines of her perpetual frown, the rigid tension that suffused every muscle day in and day out, was now absent, replaced by something close to rapture.

“ _My Creator, judge me whole_ ,” Leliana began, intoning with the proper beat her tongue had uttered a thousand times before, “ _find me well within Your grace, touch me with fire that I be cleansed, tell me I have sung to Your approval_.”

“Transfigurations?” Cassandra murmured, then cleared her throat. When a hand was offered to help her stand, she took it, knees quivering once before they were bolstered. “Is that appropriate?”

“I think so.” Leliana replied, flashing her teeth in an honest grin. “I’ll leave you to recover.”

She gathered up the rope and water without another word, flogger stowed beneath her robe, and was about to leave when Cassandra uttered her name. That in itself was rare, enough to bid Leliana turn to look, and was gifted with the side of Cassandra pulling her shirt back on, leaving her to wonder how that had to feel against fresh welts.

After a second’s hesitation, Cassandra added, “Thank you, as always, for understanding.”

“It’s my pleasure, Cassandra. Truly.” The last word was infused with a warmer note, and a brilliant blush flared all the way up to sharp cheekbones, just as Leliana expected.

Withholding a laugh – it could have rang as cruel instead of simply pleased – she left the alcove, ensuring the door was closed behind her.

There was no shame in what they shared, after all. A hundred paths could lead to release, and those less traveled could still be made safe and welcome.


End file.
